


Art of the Trade

by grandebatbae



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Teen Titans (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Prostitution, Blow Jobs, Brothels, M/M, Multi, Prostitution, Sexual Slavery, Torture, jayroman
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-05
Updated: 2017-10-30
Packaged: 2019-01-06 12:28:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,766
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12211302
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grandebatbae/pseuds/grandebatbae
Summary: Damian is sold into sexual slavery by his grandfather as a punishment. Terrified but refusing to show it, he is defiant and evasive during his pleasure training. When auctioned, the youngest and most recluse of the city's brothel keepers, Timothy Drake, purchases Damian and selects him as his one and only concubine. The new slave expects to be nothing but a toy, but is surprised when Tim Drake educates him on the art of the trade, keeping Damian at his side as he works on a mysterious project involving his fellow keepers.Damian simply falls deeper and deeper for the man who saved him from certain hell. But what are his secrets?





	1. The Boy Who Ran

**Author's Note:**

> The world this is set in is....  
> Like, Fairy Tale (the anime) without the magic, Naruto with the ninja.  
> It's not medieval but it's not modern. And I guess there is a little bit of magic...shit, idk
> 
> Enjoy!

"Number Four?"

He used to run from his grandfather and mother during training. Not because he was afraid of them, or tired, but because he wanted to prove a point. He would run to the target trees and fire his arrow at every bullseye, so that when Talia finally found him she would have to acknowledge his feat.

"Number Four? Are you in here?"

Talia would call his name, or beloved, as she stalked through the rocky forest on the outskirts of Nanda Parbat. 

His name, Damian.

 _Not_  Number Four.

Still, it is the title the subordinate of a brothel keeper known as E. Nigma uses as she searches for Damian. The teen remains huddled behind a piece of machinery in the maintenance room. 

He was stupid to lead her this way. Like a trail of breadcrumbs- he had continuously spat on his run away from Training Room D. The taste of his practice partner's semen was not welcome in his mouth.

If the boy was not as timid and innocent as he was he might have just chomped down on the appendage that was forced into his mouth by the woman now searching for him. Yet the boy was exactly that; a frightened creature from simple means by the accent in his soft voice.

"I bet you're thinking about biting cocks right now."

The sudden deep and smug voice bursting forth from the shadows has Damian dodge-rolling forward. He pulls the knife he had swiped at dinner from the tightest section of his robes. 

All the pupils at Ivy's Pleasure Training Centre have to wear white robes.

"Relax, kid."

In the most suave way possible, another subordinate Trainer steps forward into the light. Damian immediately recognises him as the representative from the Black Mask Club. He is here to train the pupils in Restraints, unlike the E. Nigma girl who specialises in Oral Sex.

"How did you find me?" Damian demands, holding the knife up.

"I was here first," the thick-armed man says. He is dressed in brown leathers with hair the same colour as Damian's, bar the white streak at the front. A cigarette rests between his lips and Damian isn't sure where to look- at the collar with a black skull at the front, or the bright green eyes lined with dark bags.

"Aren't you supposed to be training?" Damian snaps.

"Could say the same to you," the man gestures his cigarette forwards, "Ivy doesn't like chemicals in her centre. 'Gotta hide it."

At the head of the room the door clanks loudly, signalling the entry of someone.

The Trainer, Damian can not think his name, takes two strides towards the pupil. Damian readies to defend himself when the man whispers to him to  _behave._

"Red! Whatta ya doin'? You got that kid?"

"He's right here," Red Hood places his arms on Damian's shoulders and turns the teen around as Damian finally remembers the Trainer's name. 

The co-owner of the training centre, Harley if Damian is not mistaken, stands before the two of them with her hands on her hips and a suspicious gaze in her painted eyes. Two great furred beasts flank her with dark brown glares set on Damian. No wonder he had been found with such creatures tracking him.

"It's that old guy's grandson again," Harley frowns, holding her hand out. Damian flinches at the mention of Ra's.

Red Hood reaches for his hand, "Oh, this is that kid?"

He fights the man's strength but Red Hood merely catches his wrist, forcing his hand into Harley's. She gets his fingers in a tight grip and starts to lead him out as if he were nothing more than a child. They continue to talk about him like he is not even there. 

That is something they were all told to get used to.

Slaves are not people.

"He should be happy," Harley says as she tugs him from the maintenance room, "He'll sell for thousands! They all want 'im. Even your boss, I hear."

Red Hood doesn't say anything.

"There's months before the current batch go on market but Pammy's thinkin' of putting up Number Four here up in just a few weeks. His selling price'll make for a buck big enough to have a fancy party when the others go up. Whatta ya' think?"

Red Hood looks back at Damian for a moment, who is too afraid to fight with the large beasts unknown to him at his sides. He settles with the most volatile glare he can muster burning into their backs.

"There's a big market for someone like him. Someone tough, untrained and in need of breaking in. I'm sure he'll be...expensive."

"Exactly!" Harley shrills. Damian screws his face up even tighter at her, teeth grinding as she discusses his future like a business deal, "Your boss likes 'em like that, right? You sold exactly the same way!"

Another thing they were taught at the beginning of their training was that the Trainers had all been pupils once as well, at that particular facility. Red Hood, the subordinate of  _the Black Mask Club_  owner Roman Sionis. Query, subordinate of E. Nigma of the club  _Riddles_. Mark Desmond owns the most frightening of the bunch;  _Ballbusters_ , where most slaves go to die within a year by brutality often from subordinate Tarantula. Linda Friitawa owns  _Fright Night_  and runs it with fear and adrenaline in sex, her subordinate Scarecrow the attending Trainer. At _The Doctor's Office_  one can find Hugo Strange and his subordinate Dr Death using all manner of boundary-pushing scientific intercourse. Komand'r, who prefers to be called Queen Blackfire owns  _Tamaran_ with a reluctant and newly recruited subordinate Nightwing. The master known only as Mr Drake owns  _The Red Robin_  and his subordinate Spoiler is the companion Trainer. Lastly, Jervis Tetch and his subordinate Alice own  _Wonderland._

Damian is to belong to one of them. 

Servants dressed in grey to show they are not pupils scurry past with water, providing to the plants which line the ivory-decorated hallways of the centre. Most of the centre is like a garden, but for training and quarters an establishment was built. Damian views it as more of a prison.

Suddenly Jason and Harley stop. He halts his walking at the last second, almost crashing into Jason's back. He scurries away when Harley turns to stare down at him.

"Think he needs punishin'? Tarantula's on duty."

The three stand before the door of the pupil sleeping quarters. 

Damian has been punished several times. Twice he has ended up with Alice, who forced poisoned cakes into his mouth. They caused extremely painful hallucinations. Three times Dr Death used electric shocks to punish him. Once he ended up with Nightwing, who used a knife to make two significant cuts. One on Damian's chin and another on his arm. They didn't hurt, they just bled enough for him to use the red to coat Damian's face, making it look like a beating. That particular interaction was strange for the pupil. Nightwing often seemed like he wanted to say something, but mostly he remained quiet. The other time he was with the woman who forced his mouth on the other boy. Query's punishment failed all together. Damian would have time to answer riddles and if he failed he would get hit. He never failed.

The trainee is so deep in thought he does not see the fist flying towards his face until it is crashing into his nose, sending him crumbling to the floor with a yelp.

"There, see? Punished," Red Hood chirps lightly.

Damian refuses to cry out again but he can not help the heavy grunts as he desperately clutches his face. His vision clouds with tears as blood spews through his fingers. The pain is excruciating, though the realisation he will not have to face the notorious mad woman Tarantula is a welcomed comfort.

Someone knocks on the door and an answer comes almost immediately.

The door clicks open, "Clean him up and get to bed," Harley tells them. The last thing Damian sees before one of the older slaves blocks his vision is the woman, her creatures and Red Hood retreating.

"Can you stand?"

The boy who has answered is much older than Damian, but known to be kind. Damian answers him in the action as he gets to his feet, moving his hand from his face. The kid- Billy, his name was, hisses sharply at the bloody sight Damian makes.

They step into the trainee quarters. A vast gold-coloured room filled with small beds. They were comfortable at least, perhaps because they were destined for the opposite once sold. At the head of the room is a luxurious washing pool with a waterfall bleeding into it. It is the only place of cleaning they have. Almost fifty slaves sleep in the room and another fifty next door. Being number four, Damian's bed is all the way to the back near the bath.

"I don't need your help," he tells Billy quietly. He continues to venture into the room of future slaves preparing for bed alone. His fellow pupils give him looks of pity, wariness or blankness as Damian walks with his head held high.

This is a usual sight. He does not roll over like the rest of them. At the moment however, he wants nothing more than to collect a cloth, clean his blood and lay down to make a new plan for escape.

 _Escape._ He needs to get out of there before he can be sold to the likes of Roman Sionis or, worse, Mark Desmond.

"E-Excuse me?"

The foot of his own bed is against his knees when the frightened voice comes to him.

Damian turns around to see the familiar face of the boy who had finished in his mouth earlier. At first rage bubbles within him but it quickly turns to pity when he sees the fear in those blue eyes.

"What do you want?" He demands instead, "I am tired."

The boy nods frantically, "Sorry, I just got this for you."

From behind his back, he produces a damp cloth. Damian stares at it with apprehension- what if it's piss and not water? Or worse, what if it's what Damian had on his tongue earlier? What if it's chloroform? After all, they had both failed their oral exam because of Damian's outburst. That means he will have a lower selling grade. He'll get bet on by the people who want the weak ones.

He snaps himself out of his own silly thoughts when his face pulses with pain again. This... _child_  looks far too innocent for such a vulgar act. Besides, the white clothes is scentless.

"Thank you," he states shortly, taking it from quaking hands.

"Y-You're welcome! I'm sorry!" The two statements are shrieked so hurriedly they almost stun Damian. Sorry for what? Getting punched wasn't his fault. Perhaps he means their earlier interaction?

Using the gold leaf pin all trainees have to hold their robes together, Damian wipes the blood from his face and hands. He changes into a clean set of robes and folds the bloody set over his bed where they will be collected for washing.

With his face aching and his hope shattered for another day, Number Four curls up in his bed with his light dulled again.

They are going to sell him early. He has always planned to escape, but now knowing a few months of planning has turned into a few weeks pushes the timeline and the stress level to the max.

If he stays he will be bought, at his best guess, by Roman Sionis. Red Hood will tell his boss all there is to know about sweet little rebellious Number Four. Damian will stand in the centre of the market arena where the eight brothel keepers will bid for him as he is presented as an A Grade highborn descendant. 

Being the richest Roman may purchase him. Damian will be treated to constant gangbangs where he will be a restrained plaything for Roman's boys and the highest paying customers. Perhaps even Roman will have a go at him.

Should he end up at  _Fright Night_  with Linda Friitawa they will extract and exploit his greatest fear and train him to orgasm to it. The mental strain of that particular sexual torture usually ends up taking apart slaves within the years. They then default to being servile.

Jervis Tetch at  _Wonderland_  was all about making fantasies come true. Costumes, silly settings and intricate toys paired with magic mushrooms, purple smoke and laced tea and cakes. Everyone who goes there will slowly begin to lose their mind.

At  _The Red Robin_  it is all about dangerous and competitive sex. Many slaves die at that club as well. Not by drugs or beatings, but falling to their deaths or drownings. Mr Drake has special equipment allowing a pair, a threesome or even a group to act in high places, water bodies, pits with snakes and in public. They also have arena made for chasing. The first person to cause ten orgasms wins. At least, that's what everyone has heard.

Death is almost certain for Damian if Mark Desmond wins the bet.  _Ballbusters_  are all about the brutality and the pain, hence the name. Slaves are choked on cocks until they die, strangled as they are fucked and are cut open so everyone in the orgy has a hole to use. Many who are bought by Mark Desmond and Tarantula kills themselves during the transport to the brothel. That does not mean those slaves become unusable. It simply means they cater to a different, darker fetish.

Hugo Strange has a frightening disposition. A soft voice cloaking a madman. He and Dr Death investigate the science of the sex to improve customer experience. They operate on their slaves, change their insides, make them capable of being top and bottom by giving the females appendages and the males the ability to self-lubricate. Not all survive the process.

Similar to Mr Drake, E. Nigma uses competition and intellect to entertain his guests and rank his whores. At the start of the night everyone sits down to watch the slaves answers riddles. By the end of the night the smartest are the most expensive and usually end up in luxury while the dullest end up cheap and used multiple times for a quick buck. If Damian is to be sold perhaps that would be the best option for him, being of high intellect. Though he doubts E. Nigma has the funds to out-bet the richer like Sionis, Drake or Strange. Not everyone wants a smart slave so  _Riddles_  is the second lowest earning, beating only  _Ballbusters_.

Last is  _Tamaran._  Queen Komand'r likes to think herself a just ruler. Some slaves are lead to believe that until they are forced to work servicing her every second. Most brothel keepers take one lover- Roman and Red Hood, E. Nigma and Query -but Komand'r has a different slave pleasuring her every hour with her subordinate Nightwing lying next to her. The slaves are forced to work in labour as well, building statues of the Queen herself and torturing each other for her pleasure. They must treat her like a Queen and treat customers almost the same, though Komand'r has little concern for her customer service. Just her own.

Damian does not want that either. He does not want any of it.

As usual there are sniffling noises and soft whimpers. Perhaps the girls who have just been broken in, or the boys who just went through anal training. 

Damian wants none of it.


	2. The Golden

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Damian is just finding his niche and a friend when it is all taken away for his value.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *forces my own makeup obsession onto Damian*
> 
> I'm glad you guys are liking this :)  
> If anyone was wondering, Dami's age is ambiguous. Of age, underage, whatever.  
> Talk TimDami to me on tumblr grandebatbae.tumblr.com

"Use that one instead honey," she says, placing an offending hand on Damian's shoulder. The blonde takes the thick eyeliner brush from his hand and replaces it with a thin one, "You look like you've got artsy skills."

The subordinate of Mr Drake, a woman with long frizzy blonde hair and big blue eyes, smiles at her class. Wide mirrors braced on tables reflecting two trainees each are placed in a neat circle. Ten mirrors for twenty slaves.

Beside Damian is Number Three, AKA Jon. The two are often paced together to due being 3 and 4. The boy's timid outside bothers Damian. He displays his weakness and Damian can not understand why.

"That colour is too dark for you skin," he ridicules him, but his tone lacks bite. Still, his eyes do not move from the complexion staring back at him.

"Oh," Jon responds softly. He places the brush he was using down- the wrong one -and reaches for the lighter shade. In the process, he knocks over a jar of thick primer and it spills out over his side of the desk.

Damian rolls his eyes with a heavy sigh and knows the punishment is coming. He glances up at Spoiler, who is watching them from the far side of the room. 

"Now you've done it," he tells a quaking Jon nonchalantly. He ignores the blossoming pity in his gut.

Spoiler moves towards them with two jars and a cloth in her hand.

"Don't worry about it," she soothes, leaning past them. Damian sees Jon turn away from the blonde's chest when it nears his face. He doesn't roll his eyes for the hundredth time that day for fear of a stroke. "Use this," she presses the unfamiliar jar into his hand, "to remove the foundation and the primer. When you finish, wipe your face with some water, prime again and use this shade," she points to the one even lighter than Jon's second choice.

The boy nods minutely, "Okay."

With a pat on the shoulder that has him flinching, Spoiler heads off to gently critique Number Five's appalling attempt at filling her eyebrows.

Damian appears to have advanced the most. 

His skin was primed before anyone even knew which jar held the primer. He knew the deep foundation tone and which brush was the liquid one. A copper-bronze mix of eyeshadows colours his eyes and makes the jade stand out, bringing forth a sense of exoticness. His top-lid line is elegant and thin thanks to Spoiler's suggestion, not that he would ever admit it. His concealer is perhaps a little dark and does not entirely erase the dark circles beneath his eyes, but it covers the bruises.

"You need to be able to hide any sores or marks. Clients don't want scarred or marred goods. This is increased tenfold should you end up at  _Ballbusters, The Black Mask Club, The Red Robin_ or _Fright Night_ , _"_  Spoiler had said in her opening piece.

Talia would watch Damian train during her morning makeup routine. Observation is simply a part of him, so it's unsurprising he remembers most of the process.

He chances one glance at Jon. The boy is using a bronzer brush to apply his foundation which haphazardly causes streaks and patches. Damian grunts in frustration, bringing Jon's attention to him. Big blue eyes grow even wider when they see Damian's perfectly painted face.

"You are using the wrong brush," he states.

Jon draws his hand back to stare at the stained bristles in surprise. Damian huffs and leans past him, getting a hold of the foundation brush sitting in the other boy's basket.

"This one," Damian smacks it down on the vanity in front of Jon, before he turns back to his own work. He takes a palette with four pans in it and uses the most golden tone to highlight his cheekbones, as his mother would. He also dusts some beneath the arch of his brow and on the tip of his nose.

"Um..." Jon murmurs softly as Damian places his brush down. He shuts his eyes and grinds his teeth. Why isn't that silly subordinate coming over to help him? Is she really so invested in drawing on some other girl's eyebrows that she does not notice Jon's panic?

"Look at the roof," Damian demands, swivelling his seat around and snatching the brush from Jon. He pours the foundation out on his own hand and ignores the other boy's panicked apologies.

He could be gentler, sure, but time is of the essence as Miss Ivy will be visiting the room soon to observe their work and make sure her trainees are progressing nicely. If the boy is not prepared then he will be beaten, again. So he presses the flat brush into Jon's skin, painting from the centre of his face and out.

Spoiler was right. This is his colour.

"You are pale. You will require a bronzer," Damian tells him, looking anywhere but at those blue eyes. Jon's gaze is locked to Damian's working hand as it flicks outwards delicately.

"I never used to be," he mumbles suddenly as Damian dips the brush back into the puddle for more product. He starts working the nude beige into Jon's hairline. When he doesn't tell Jon to shut up, the boy continues, "Pale, I mean. My family owns... _owned_  a farm. There was a lot a lot of work in the sun."

There are questions he thinks of asking- Was he stolen, sold or did he leave of his own accord? Some trainees entered the pleasure academy willingly. Their difference is shown in their results. They try their hardest, learn and get top of the class so their selling price is set too high for  _Ballbusters_  and  _Riddles._

The ones who are stolen are also without other options, usually. One girl who was taken took her own life during their induction, so Damian supposes there are other ways to escape.

"Sold?" Is all he asks as he finishes painting the other boys face. Jon takes a brief look in the mirror and seems taken aback by his appearance.

"Um," he responds, distracted by his own reflection. Damian tuts and reaches for the bronzer, "Sorry, what?"

"Were you sold?" Damian repeats impatiently. He gets to work colouring Jon's features.

"No," Jon whispers. He doesn't push any further.

Just as Damian is gluing big thick lashes to his finished eyes, Spoiler starts talking to the room again. He takes a look at his fellow trainees and finds disappointing results. Girls with contour looking like mud on their face and boys with shaky lines above their eyes.

"Miss Ivy will be here soon to assess you," Spoiler announces with a big fake smile. "In order to test the durability of your makeup skills, you will be required to keep your work on for the rest of the day. I believe your Oral and Mannerism classes are later."

Damian balks at the thought of Oral class again. He will be partnered with Jon, no doubt. The sick little puberty stricken boy will not doubt finish in Damian's mouth again. He suddenly regrets helping him.

The atmosphere of the room shifts quickly. Damian is long finished and leaning back in his seat, ignoring the enraptured eyes of subordinate, trainee and slave alike. He knows he looks nice, but he is not going to revel in it. 

Miss Ivy, a tall, curvy beautiful woman with long red locks and an outfit always drowning in green, enters the classroom looking regal and unimpressed.

"In a line now," Spoiler tells the class. Everyone gets to their feet and hurries over to the far wall. All except Damian, who is last to his spot. He rushes for no one.

Ivy walks along the line silently with her hands locked behind her back. Damian can spot the tension in Spoiler's body, whose teaching will reflect in her pupils' work.

A few of the students have their chins raised. Ivy inspects their blending work, shakes her head at their falling lashes and wipes unblended contour away with her thumb.

Jon is quaking when she reaches him. She tilts back his head and nods approvingly at the blending job Damian had done, then peers at the blue shadow over his lids. Damian had left Jon to do his eyes on his own and they were the worst part of the look. Her eyes flicker to Damian as if she knows he did most of the work.

The knowing turns to fascination however, when she stops in front of him. Damian, with dusky skin, golden hints and big green eyes levelled with falsies. Eyes the same colour as his flicker over his forehead, to his sculpted eyebrows, down to the golden blend of shadows, the perfect winged liner, the shimmering cheeks, the contoured bones, the natural lip colour.

"Dress them," Ivy demands sharply, still looking at Damian with satisfaction in her gaze. Spoiler and the slaves with her leap into action, pulling open the wall on the other side of the room revealing racks of clothing. "Bring me the red and gold robe from the back."

Spoiler herself gives a heavy nod, but still, Ivy's eyes stay on Damian's face. Damian keeps his stare just as frozen, just as intense, but their emotions are on opposite ends of the scale.

The line is moving as slaves take trainees by the hand and lead them over to the racks for Spoiler's selection. Once she has run the robe to Ivy she returns to her work.

"Come, young one," Ivy says, stepping away from Damian and gesturing to the door. She holds her hand out and the guard at the entrance cracks his knuckles. Damian takes the easy way out and places his hand in hers. 

She loops their arms and escorts him from the room. 

"You are very beautiful, do you know that?" She begins as they walk the hallway.

"I have been told," is all Damian provides.

Ivy gives a single chuckle, "I am not surprised."

Damian had a feeling she was taking him to her office, but when they stop outside of the trainee quarters, a different idea forms in his head alongside a hint of fear.

_They won't kill me. They need to sell me._

"Collect your bearings," is all she says, and again, her guard makes some sort of threatening gesture like he may crush Damian's skull if he doesn't.

Ivy stays at the door as he walks into the vast empty room. He passes all the beds, including Jon's, until he reaches his. All he has is a little leather satchel with a few items in it. It was much fuller before, but they took all of his weapons when he arrived.

She places her hand over the strap on his shoulder when he comes out.

"You're a smart boy," she begins, reaching for his hand and lifting it to her gaze. Two different foundation colours- his, and Jon's -stain his skin in the puddles he had used for dipping. "A fighter with compassion and empathy. A touch of art. Well educated," they stop in a hall unfamiliar to him. Ivy turns to Damian with a seemingly maternal smile. "But, most of all, you are high born."

The guard opens the door to reveal a normal looking room, decorated with limestone, plants and soft colours as the others at the academy are.

Ivy moves him forward and shuts the door with the guard on the other side. Still with that same smile, she presses the golden and red robe into his arms.

"Get changed," she tells him. He doesn't move until she is on the other side of the room plucking things off of the desk there. Damian remains on high alert, aware of the bed in the corner, but also the flogging case to the side.

The robe is beautiful and reminds him of the clothes his grandfather wore. It stops at his ankles and the sleeves are long and wide, hiding his arms. It envelopes him like he's a child wearing his father's clothes.

Strange. He was sure they'd dress the slaves as scant as possible.

"You will sell for a very high price. I know you will have heard my wife talk about this," Ivy says as she ties the sash around Damian's waist. She moves around him and gives him the jewellery she had selected. A thick gold collar, little gems that clip onto his ears and a few that stick to his under eye.

"Are you selling me early?" He asks quietly, trying to expel the waver in his voice. It doesn't work.

"We are," she confirms as she places tiny gold diamantes on his face. Once finished, she steps back and looks Damian up and down with a firm nod. "The brothel master have gathered. You will go on trade in a few days," she explains. Her hand raises and Damian flinches, but instead of striking him, she clicks her fingers. "But first, you will require a skill score."

_Skill score._ A number on a scale from 1-25 detailing the overall sex slave skills of an individual.

When the other door in the room opens, a large burly man is standing on the other side. He looks similar to the Guard outside, but much hairier, with arms just as thick. His shoulders and neck are built like a bull's. He is naked and his thick, weeping erection is enough to send Damian sprinting towards the door.

"Calm, little one," Ivy soothes. She start walking towards him but Damian rips the bangle on his arm off, turns and ditches it at her head. At the last second she manages to bat it away and Damian takes the opportunity to rip the door open and sprint out into the hallway.

The guard is unprepared and Damian delivers a sharp kick to his inner thigh. He imagines his test dummy is putting on some clothes so he can join the chase to. It doesn't matter, because Damian is getting out of here,  _now._

Ivy doesn't give chase. He ducks down the hallways, passes Red Hood who barely reacts to the running boy until Ivy's guard comes crashing around the corner. Damian doesn't look back for fear of slowing down, but he knows that Black Mask's subordinate will be hot on his heels now as well.

Every corner he bolts around brings more and more hope. He's almost there- the entrance, where he can jump the fence and figure out what to do next.

Mother. He has to contact her somehow, because surely she was not in on this plan of his grandfather's?

When Damian finally reaches the last stretch, his hopes of escape that way are completely dashed.

Ivy and Harley are standing in front of the heavy arch doors with three guards either side of them. 

Damian skids along the floor, halting to a stop. Ivy opens her mouth to speak but Damian doesn't give her the satisfaction of his attention. Instead, he swivels around to where Red Hood and the guard are coming up behind him.

Mustering up all of his training, he launches himself up onto the wall and quite literally runs over Red Hood's head. He passes with ease and Damian could almost believe he let him.

The moment his legs are on the ground again he is sprinting off again, unsure of where he is heading now with his original plan squashed. He ducks and weaves his was back through the academy. He's faster than them, but would be even more so without the heavy robe on.

_A vent. Somewhere small. Find it and hide._

There is a vent in the trainee quarters. If only he could get there-

Everything comes to a stunning stop when Damian crashes into someone immediately around the next corner. For a moment he fears it is the test dummy, struggling to draw back from the person's chest, ready to kill.

Only, when he looks up, there is no hairy, ugly mug waiting. Instead it is a handsome man with blank cerulean eyes staring down at him. Short black hair and pale skin wearing red suit. He is taller than Damian who barely reaches his chin. The attractive young man probably a few years older too. He can feels his arms around him, one hand on his back and the other on his hip. 

He tries to speak, but he can't, locked under that gaze which slowly shifts to interest. Damian thinks of squirming his hands out from between them, but the man looks over Damian's head and the boy can hear approaching footsteps. He freezes in the hold.

"Mr Drake!" Harley shrills as the group close in. Damian doesn't turn around- can't- still staring up at the man in fascination. He has never been so locked down by just a look. Is this man some sort of magical being? "We thought you were arriving tomorrow."

_Arriving tomorrow._

_Mr Drake?_

Snapped from his trance by the realisation, Damian's expression shifts to one of horror. This is Mr Drake, the owner of  _the Red Robin._

"A large group of bandits were seen outside the town walls. We arrived early to avoid them," someone from behind Mr Drake says. Damian finally takes notice of the others standing with him. Another burly man with blue eyes and a girl with a short black bob curtaining her pretty features.

More subordinates to that idiot Spoiler.

"We apologise for this trainee," Ivy begins, "He was just about to-"

"How much?" Mr Drake interrupts. His voice is level and his eyes are still on Damian. The hand on his hip moves to his face where he traces Damian's cheek gently.

"I'm sorry?" Ivy responds.

Finally,  _finally,_ Mr Drake's eyes move off of Damian to regard Ivy with a less than impressed expression.

"He  _is_  why you asked Roman, Hugo and I to show up early, correct?" A good tactic. The three richest and most likely to money war with him. Damian hates that Ivy knows what she is doing.

"He is, but-"

"I will give you three times his weight in gold, silver and bronze right now."

The silence in the wake of the proposition is stunning. That kind of money is barley spent on a group of slaves, let alone one. Damian was sold for a quarter of that.

"You are sure? This will break the record of what Roman Sionis paid for this one here," Ivy says, nodding back to Red Hood whose reaction can not be seen behind his helmet.

"I am sure," Mr Drake says, releasing Damian and taking a step away from him, leaving the trainee cold and alone between the two groups.

Damian realises with a sinking feeling, when Ivy forms a little smile and Harvey does a dance, that he has been traded.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Talk to me on tumblr at grandebatbae.tumblr.com


End file.
